


Sins of the Fathers

by Got_Well_Soon



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Family, Gen, Post-Game(s), Pre-Game(s), Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-15 10:31:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8052868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Got_Well_Soon/pseuds/Got_Well_Soon
Summary: The seeds of Arcadia Bay's destruction were sown years before Max and Chloe were born. A story of William Price's one great mistake, the origin of Max's power, and some measure of redemption in the aftermath of the storm.





	1. Chapter 1

_"I have been made to learn that the doom and burden of our life is bound forever on a man's shoulders; and when the attempt is made to cast it off, it but returns upon us with more unfamiliar and more awful pressure."_

— Dr. Henry Jekyll in _The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ , Robert Louis Stevenson, 1886

* * *

The only sound was his own ragged breathing and the crackling pop of the fire before him. He sat very still, legs crossed, unblinking, eyes burning. The flames danced before him, yellow, orange, red, curling around glowing logs, now higher and dimmer, then lower and brighter. The fire was all he could see.

A man's voice, deep and authoritative but distant, barely audible. "Good. Focus on the flame."

Then, suddenly, his hand was pulled toward the fire, and he felt pain lance through his arm. He didn't fight, but his eyes moved to his hand. The man gripped it, pressing a knife against his forearm. Blood, his blood, flowed down the knife and dripped into the flames, sizzling away into acrid smoke.

 _This is worse than he said. This isn't right. So much blood,_ he thought, but even his own thoughts were fuzzy, distant.

"The flame! Look into the flame!" came the voice again.

He looked. And was swept away.

He came to, found himself lying on his back in the dirt. There was pain in his arm, but it was nothing compared to the agony in his head. He opened this eyes to see his companion standing over him. "Good, you're awake. Tell me what you saw, William."

"Saw?" he croaked. He struggled to recall the madness which had overwhelmed him. Had he _seen_ anything at all in that maelstrom? He held is hand in front of his face. His arm was freshly bandaged. "Saw." he repeated, stalling.

"Yes. I imagine you saw quite a bit. Tell me."

"I didn't really think this would work. I was confused."

"It doesn't matter. Tell me what you saw!"

"Hmm… there was a bull elk in the clearing. It looked right at me. It seemed angry, somehow."

"Good. You'll be seeing him again. What else?"

"Arcadia Bay… people and places here. Some I know, some I don't. Some things were different."

"Different how?"

"I'm not sure. The town is… changing."

"Yes. Much is changing. What else?"

"That's... all I've got."

"A good start. I told you I would open your eyes, do you believe me now?"

"I'm starting to."

"Good. I think it's time to leave." Sean Prescott held out his hand, helped William to his feet. "We'll talk later. Drive slow on the way home, you're a little short of blood." With that, he turned and strode off down the path, away from the smoldering embers in the center of the clearing.

William put a hand to his throbbing head. A cold wind had come up from sea, powerful gusts blowing through the treetops above him, swirling leaves around his feet. He could barely make out the little path by the moonlight, but eventually he found his way through the forest, back to his car. _This was a bad idea,_ he thought. It had started, like so many bad ideas, in a bar. Sean had been slumming it, taking a drink with the working stiffs down at the local watering hole. Or so it had seemed; at this point William suspected the man had been on a more specific errand. His curiosity had gotten the better of him, and now here he was, a 23-year-old nobody sacrificing his own blood in the woods with the creepy scion of Arcadia Bay's resident plutocrats.

He ran his hand through his shaggy brown hair. He didn't even believe in spirits. But still, he was intrigued. He didn't think he'd been drugged. Why had he seen what he did? What did it all mean? Only Sean Prescott could help him find out.

* * *

The second time, Sean offered some measure of explanation. "I've come to see it as another world, which is closed to us. We don't see it, we can't touch it. But here, in this place, the door is just slightly ajar. With the right talent, and the right skill, we can peer through the cracks. And the spirits there know things, about the past, the present, and the future. The _future_ , William. They can show us. We will _make_ them show us." He looked into William's eyes, long and hard, then added some advice. "Try to focus on where you are. Keep your feet on the ground and your eyes open and you won't move around so much."

"OK, I'll try. Is this… always going to involve cutting me up?"

"My grandfather found the way, and my father spent his entire life trying to make it more… palatable. He never succeeded. Fortunately, we have the help of modern medicine." He gestured at the first aid kit next to him. Surgical-grade hemostatic foam was expensive stuff, but Sean was rich. As callous as the man seemed to be, he had dressed the previous wound meticulously, and William had healed quickly.

They proceeded as before. Lit the fire, added various plants, at least one of which was extremely poisonous, drew obscure shapes in the dirt. William concentrated. Sean cut him, again, blood spilling in the fire, again. He lost himself, again.

Fire, and chaos, for a time. The elk appeared, snorted at him, tossed its head. Then he was at the post office, mailing Christmas cards. One was to his brother. In Portland. _Portland?_ he wondered. _When did he move?_

He watched a man and a woman walking down the street, eating ice cream, laughing.

He was in the diner eating breakfast. Joyce refilled his coffee. She was wearing a wedding ring. He looked down at his left hand… so was he. He smiled.

He watched a construction crew pour concrete into a new foundation. A big one. Next to… Blackwell Academy? A painted sign next to the site read "Coming soon: Prescott Dormitory".

He watched a fishermen hoist a cage onto the deck of his boat. The man started pulling out crabs, measuring the smaller ones and tossing some of them back. The rest went into the hold.

He was in the library with a girl. She looked a lot like Joyce, as a child. Joyce's daughter. His own daughter! He watched her pull books from the shelf, flip through them, put them back. "Max would like this," she said, keeping one. _Who's Max?_ he wondered.

He stood below the Eiffel Tower with Joyce, taking a photo. She munched on a croissant. Their daughter, a teenager now, ran ahead. The sun shone in her blonde hair.

More scenes followed, then dimmed, and he saw fire, and chaos, again.

And then he woke in the clearing. Sean was still finishing the bandage on this forearm.

"Well?" came Sean's voice.

"Clearer this time. A lot of stuff. A daughter. Sean, I'm going to have a daughter! She's so beautiful!"

"So, now you believe."

"It just seemed so real. I guess I don't know. Are you planning to make a donation to Blackwell?"

"Eventually. They need a new dormitory and I want to make sure my own children are well-treated there."

"Whoah… I think I saw it, being built."

"Good! You see? You've had a real vision, tonight."

"A daughter. I need to propose to Joyce!"

"Be careful, William. Don't be too hasty to act on what you see, it's not set in stone."

"I'm pretty sure about this. I've waited too long already."

Sean closed the first aid kit, produced a notebook. "What else did you see?"

* * *

The next day, he called his boss, pretended to be sick. He drove an hour to the nearest jewelry store, selected a ring in some haste, drove an hour back. He couldn't afford much, but it'd do. Walked into the Two Whales a little before the lunch rush, sat down at the counter. He thought he should be nervous, but he wasn't. He just watched Joyce behind the counter, smiling. She was 22, tall, blonde, beautiful. She'd moved here from Atlanta just three years ago but somehow already seemed like she owned the place.

She took an order from a trucker at the other end, stuck the tag up in the passthrough, then sauntered over to William, leaned down with her elbows on the counter across from him. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, Mr. Price?"

"It's a free country," he teased. "Can't a man walk into a diner without facing an interrogation?"

"Not this man. I _know_ when you're up to something, and you have a glint in your eye today as surely as the sun rises in the east."

He feigned distress. "Once again you've seen past my subterfuge. Woe!" He leaned back, put his right hand to his forehead in mock anguish. While Joyce's eyes followed the motion, with his left hand he set the ring box on the counter, popped it open. Then he looked down at it. "What do we have here? It appears I've come here to ask you to marry me."

Joyce followed his gaze, saw the ring for the first time. Her eyes widened. "William… I… of course… of course I'll marry you! If you really think you'll be happy with a small-town waitress for a wife!"

"Of this, I am absolutely certain."

She leaned across the counter and kissed him, long and hard. The trucker looked up from his coffee and stared. After a moment, Joyce broke off and looked at him. "You need a refill on that, sugar, or are you just rubberneckin'?"

"Sorry ma'am," the man said, gruffly, returning his attention to his coffee.

She pulled the ring out of the box, slipped it on, admired it. Then she looked at William, who sat beaming across the counter. "I never thought you would. You are full of surprises, mister."


	2. Chapter 2

They did not meet often. He never told Joyce about any of it, explaining away his cuts as minor workplace or kitchen injuries. He and Sean had no relationship other than their private rituals in the clearing. He was led to continue by his own curiosity; the visions seemed harmless enough and he'd been enchanted by the glimpses of his own future. He carried himself with the easy confidence of a man who knew everything would turn out just fine, because he had seen it happen.

Each time, William saw new things, increasingly other people's lives, which he related to Sean. Each time, he also saw the elk, outside a window, walking in the street, or grazing some stray bit of grass, unnoticed by anyone else. As they set up for a ritual, building the fire, Sean drawing an obtuse and ever-changing set of patterns on the ground, William asked about the creature.

"Your spirit animal," Sean replied. "The elk is a noble one. I believe that the things you see are all things it knows. The how and why of that, however… remain a mystery. There are a great many legends, often contradictory, but they do tell us something about their inclinations. You can learn a bit about a man, if you can find out his spirit animal."

"And yours?"

Sean hesitated. "A… grizzly bear."

"Why am I not surprised? What are some of the others?"

"Many of the animals of the forest. Deer, coyote, squirrel, mouse, snake, bat, cougar, lizard, even butterfly."

"A butterfly? Seems a bit odd."

"Exceedingly rare. It consumes its own world, and is reborn as something new. Change incarnate. Extremely powerful, very dangerous, terribly unpredictable. A spirit for times of crisis. Pray you never meet one."

William feigned distress. "I'll never look at a butterfly in my back yard the same way again!"

Sean simply grunted, returning to stoking the fire.

They performed their ritual. William encountered little of much concern to him, but he did catch a glimpse of Chloe, a teenager again, walking hand-in-hand down the street with a beautiful, long-haired blonde. A friend he hadn't seen before. They seemed very close. And happy. He was glad.

He also noticed that some of his newer visions contradicted previous ones. People's destinies, it seemed, were subject to change. A thought that wouldn't bother him, except that, as he started comparing what he was seeing with what he remembered, he found shifts in only one direction. Destinies were changing, and they were changing for the worse. Illnesses would develop, proposals would be rejected, accidents would happen, businesses would close. The town itself seemed to grow more desperate.

When he came to, he repeated the dull exercise of recounting his visions to Sean, who took notes all the while. He wondered at the purpose of this. "Sean. What are you really doing, with the information you get from me?"

"Mostly nothing," Sean replied mildly. "Here and there an investment, or a conversation. I need to protect my family's interests, but I'm not trying to change people's lives. My father learned the hard way that if he tried to change something meaningful, it tended to come about just the same, by alternate means."

"But people's fates _are_ changing. They're getting worse."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps the veracity of the initial visions is suspect. There is no way to know."

"Are you sure? This has nothing to do with you?"

"I assure you, William, the misfortunes of the people here are simply their allotted destinies, not any fault of mine, or yours."

"I wish we could help. I'm not comfortable standing by while the town suffers."

"Indeed. But even if it were possible, truly altering destiny would seem a dangerous proposition."

William scowled. "And why is it always me? Have you ever done this yourself?"

"Many times. My father taught me, as his father taught him. But I have… exhausted what I can learn from my own visions."

William let this go. But his suspicions were aroused. Something wasn't right.

* * *

Chloe was born. He looked into her blue eyes and fell in love. "She looks like you," Joyce said, smiling weakly in the hospital bed.

William held his daughter carefully. She was so small and fragile. "Not as much as she looks like you!"

He had less interest in visions of the future after that. He was too concerned with the real world, now that Chloe was flesh and blood and everything was for her. But Sean was insistent. Chloe was still a baby, but he had added her to a list of "legacy" scholarships at Blackwell, a perk of his increasing financial support to the school. "So you know she'll have the best opportunities," he said. It was enough to get William to the clearing again. But, he resolved not to continue blindly following Sean's lead.

They met, this time, in the afternoon light.

"Where's the manzanita?" Sean asked, annoyed. They would add some of this plant to the fire; William didn't understand why, but a certain selection was required for the ritual to have much chance at success. Or so Sean claimed. How did he know? His grandfather's "research", the nature of which William had never discerned.

"Ah, my fault, sorry. I was distracted, it slipped my mind."

"Oh for the love of… go find some, will you?"

"I'm really having trouble concentrating today, I think it'd be best if I had a chance to clear my head before we got started."

Sean looked at him angrily, as if he were about to issue a stern rebuke. But instead he produced a choked assent. "Fine. I'll go find it myself." He trudged off into the woods. Manzanita was common enough but didn't grow this deep in the forest, which is why William generally cut some on the drive up and brought it along. Sean would be gone a while. Once the man was out of sight, William approached Sean's little collection of gear, and picked up the notebook he always used. It was an old, worn volume, thick, the binding ragged, the pages heavily thumbed. A string marked a page toward the end, and William opened it to that page.

Not unexpectedly, he found a ledger of extrapolated future facts from his previous visions. People changing jobs, moving, getting married, being born, getting sick, getting well, dying. Businesses opening and closing, buildings rising and falling. As he had seen it, all of this had been vibrant, colorful, the stuff of life itself; but here is in this dry volume it all seemed no more momentous than the shuffling of a stack of papers.

He flipped backward through the pages. Here and there a fact was annotated. Next to "D. Johnson, owner, Johnson's Hardware, deceased unexpectedly circa 1997" was the comment "doubled shop rent, seek new tenant in anticipation of business failure." Next to "G. Ramos married R. Ortiz, imminent, child circa 1995" was written "Fired Ortiz for coming in late, avoid maternity benefits. Potentially rehire later, good worker." William shuddered. _I should never have cooperated with him,_ he thought. He continue flipping pages, stopped at a longer annotation, in red.

The original entry, in the usual black, read "B. Gordon elected city council, 11/1994, significant policy disagreements." Next to it, the red ink paraphrased a no-holds-barred effort to defeat Gordon, instead re-electing the unpopular incumbent, one C. Weaver. William remembered this election. He should have known Prescott's hands were all over it when the outcome contradicted his vision _._ The red annotation continued.

"Update 11/94 success. Side effects:"  
"11/94 R. Weaver skiing injury, permanent disability."  
"updated prediction 5/95 C. Weaver-owned motel bankrupt, consider purchase and remodel."  
"updated prediction circa 1998 J. Weaver diagnosed congestive heart failure, previous predictions healthy."

William pondered this entry. Sean had lied to him. _Side effects?_ he repeated to himself with contempt.

He started flipping back farther. There were other red entries, other "side effects". How long had this been going on? The years fell away as he turned the pages, and then, abruptly, the handwriting in the notebook changed. The content was almost identical, written by another man's hand. Sean's father _,_ William realized. He turned to the first page, at the top of which was written "Book 2". The first entry was from 1972. He felt sick.

He skipped back toward the string, found the beginning of his work with Sean. What had induced the man to involve him in the first place? Preceding the log of his first vision was the simple note "New seer, W. Price, age 23. Strong minded, high potential." Before this, an odd entry. "6/91 Bear is actively pursuing now. Final ritual, use others going forward." William started reading backward. Before long he found another oddity. "1/91 Becoming dangerous. Side effects increasing, more intervention necessary." Perplexed, he continued hunting backward, when he heard the crunch of footfalls in the underbrush. Hurriedly, he closed and replaced the notebook, sat in his customary spot before the fire pit.

Sean returned to the clearing, bits of moss and dead leaves clinging to his sweater and jeans, clutching a fresh-cut bough of manzanita. He sounded cheerful enough. "For future reference, there's a stand of it down that way where the hill faces the ocean. Too much wind for the trees, I think." William stared at him with cold eyes. This would be the last time, and he would tell Sean nothing. But he had questions he wanted answered.

They proceeded as usual, and soon enough William was adrift in time. He found himself in front of the Two Whales diner, some people he didn't know having an argument on the sidewalk next to him. His old traveling companion, the bull elk, sauntered down the street not far away, its enormous antlers occupying an entire lane. William stepped off the curb and approached it.

"You! I want to know something!" he said, looking up at the animal's eye as it ambled past. But the elk ignored him totally, its leisurely pace carrying it at the speed of a strenuous walk, for a man. "Please!" William entreated, placing his hand on its flank.

At this, the elk spun around, lowered its head to William's eye level, and snorted at him. "Please," William said again. "There's a cost to this, isn't there? Can you show me? What price is going to be paid for… all this?"

The elk stared at him a moment, lowering its head, then jerked it up and forward, landing its nose in the middle of William's chest and sending him sprawling backward on the pavement, the wind knocked out of him. As he gasped and struggled to rise, the huge animal walked casually up to him and placed one hoof on his chest, pinning him. It bent its head down, bringing its nose to William's face. He could feel its hot breath ruffling his hair. And then everything went black.

He was upside down. His eyes were open but he couldn't see. He couldn't breath. He heard shouts nearby. "Call 911!" someone yelled.

He saw Joyce opening the front door of their house. He realized she was crying. Her hands were shaking. Chloe, a teenager, came into the hall, with a brown-haired girl. They looked nervous. "Chloe. Chloe come here. Your dad, he…" She broke down into sobs.

 _No!_ he thought. _This isn't how it's supposed to go! I can't leave them!_ He struggled against the visions, tried to wake up, but there was no stopping them now.

Chloe leaned back in a chair, grimacing in pain. Beside her, a tattoo artist concentrated on his needle, working fine detail into the outline of a skull.

Chloe's hair was blue. She stared down the barrel of an automatic pistol, held by an angry young man in a red jacket. They struggled, and the gun went off. She fell to the ground.

Sean, older, sat in the back of a courtroom. The jury foreman was standing. "In the case of The State of Oregon vs. Nathan Prescott, on the count of murder in the second degree, we find the defendant not guilty by reason of insanity." Sean smiled. Further up in the audience, a woman stood, screaming at the jury. Joyce. The judge banged his gavel.

Sean sat at a mahogany desk, surrounded by walls lined with bookcases, bent over the stacked pages of some immense contract. Sunlight streamed in through two windows behind him. In front of the desk, an enormous grizzly bear paced, back and forth, back and forth. Seeming to lose patience, it turned and planted its front paws on the desk, and let loose a furious bellow directly into Sean's face. His eyes never wavered from his documents. He flipped to the next page.

William awoke, sweating, breathing hard. Stood up, jerking his partially-bandaged hand away from Sean.

"It's all changed, all ruined! You lied to me, you son of a bitch! This is all because of you! You, your father, your whole damned family!"

"Calm down, William. You helped me willingly, you also wanted a look at the future. Clearly you've seen something terrible, but we may still be able to… repair… whatever it is. Tell me."

"You're wrong, Prescott. I've seen it. Whenever you meddle with destiny, there's _always_ a cost. A big one. The more you tinker with people's lives, the more twisted the town becomes. And now my family pays the price! You and I are _through!_ "

"You're making a mistake, William. You have a bright future if you stick with me. Otherwise, you have no chance to improve your lot."

"Nothing you can do, none of _this_ , can help me with what's coming. I'm quitting before it gets any worse than it already is. Maybe on my own I can find a way to change it."

"Doubtful. Don't be a fool."

"I was a fool to come here in the first place. No more! You stay away from me, and you stay away from my family!"

William turned his back, stormed off down the path, cursing his own gullibility. How could he ever save Chloe if he wasn't going to survive himself?

 


	3. Chapter 3

Once he started looking for it, William found signs of the Prescotts' malign influence everywhere. They owned a lot of property, and they kept buying more. They paid off the politicians. They controlled the police. They leaned on the local newspaper. The town continued to suffer. The Oregon coast had been hit hard by the decline of the lumber and fishing industries, but Arcadia Bay was a pretty place with relatively good weather and a premier high school. It should have done well with tourists, retirees, telecommuters. But people kept leaving. Those who remained fell on hard times, too often.

William concentrated on his own family. He became less certain of the visions. Living his life, raising his daughter, those images seemed so far away. He still feared them, but he had more immediate concerns and, ultimately, there was nothing he could do about any of it. He'd learned enough, perusing Prescott's notes, to know that even if he uprooted his family, left Arcadia Bay entirely, some form of the same destiny would likely find him and Chloe. So he focused on each day as it came, thankful every time he walked through the front door safe and sound.

The years passed. Chloe started school. The Friday after she began second grade, the family sat around the dinner table. "So what did you think of the first week of school?" William asked.

"It's OK," Chloe said. "Mr. Gustafson is nice, but he makes us sit at our desks all the time. It's boring!"

"Well, hate to say it kiddo, but that's school for you. Lots and lots of desk time. Did you make any new friends?"

"Yeah! At recess I met Max and she's smart and pretty and we're going to be best friends! She's only in first grade but we decided we could be friends anyway."

"Oh yeah? Max is a funny name for a girl." The name was familiar, somehow.

"Well... she said her name was Maxine but only to call her Max. I wish there was school tomorrow, so I could see her again."

"I suppose you'll have to wait until Monday."

"I guess… unless Max comes over to play tomorrow! Can she? Please Daddy?!"

"Maybe! Do you know her last name?"

"Um... Caulfield! She said her name was Maxine Caulfield!"

"Well, I'll see if I can find her parents' phone number and give them a call."

"If I were a boy I would marry her!"

Joyce chuckled and made eyes at William. "Whoah now," he said, "you're a bit young for that. You don't get married until you're all grown up, like me and Mom."

"That's so far away!" Chloe made a mischievous face. "Maybe, when I'm old enough, I'll marry Max even though we're both GIRLS!"

"Hah! Maybe so, maybe so."

After dinner, William called information, found the Caulfields' number, dialed. A woman answered. "Hello?"

"Hi, my name's William Price, is this the Caulfield residence?"

"Yes, hi, I'm Vanessa. You must be Chloe's father? Max has been talking about her all week."

"It seems the admiration is mutual. Chloe's asking if Max can come over to play tomorrow. I'll be home all day so I can keep an eye on both of them, if you like."

"You're offering free babysitting?" Vanessa's voice muffled. "Hey Max, do you want to go over to your friend Chloe's house tomorrow?"

William could hear the distant response. "Yaaaayyy!"

Vanessa's voice returned. "Sounds like we have a date."

When Max arrived, William realized he recognized her. He'd seen this girl, older, years before. She would be with Chloe the day he… whatever was going to happen to him. The thought shook him. If this part still held true, the rest probably did, too.

The girls spent the whole day playing, yelling, running around, drawing pictures, swinging on the swing set. It seemed like they never even slowed down, until Max's father arrived to collect her, whereupon the girls immediately turned sullen and locked their arms together. Their parents pried them apart and agreed that the next play date would be allowed to be a sleepover.

In bed, William lay awake, remembering. Over and over again, he saw Joyce opening the front door, Max and Chloe coming into the hallway, Joyce breaking down. He saw Chloe older, blue-haired, the gun going off, Chloe falling to the ground. He could accept this own fate; he'd been the one who'd helped Sean Prescott. He couldn't accept hers.

* * *

When morning came, he couldn't hide his tired, bloodshot eyes from Joyce. "William, you look terrible. What's bugging you, hon'?"

"Just stressed about work. I realized I really screwed something up at the office on Friday, I need to go in for a few hours today to fix it." He hated lying to her. Maybe today would be the last time.

"You shouldn't let it get into your head like that. It's just a job, William."

"I know, I know. Once I sort this one thing out, hopefully I'll be able to forget about it."

After breakfast, he drove into the hills. Cut some manzanita on the way. He hadn't been to the clearing in seven years. He hiked to the spot, looked around. Someone had been here more recently than seven years ago, that much he could tell. He didn't dwell on it, instead hurriedly built the fire, added the necessary plants. He didn't know what he was supposed to draw in the dirt, hoped it didn't matter. He sat down in the usual spot, looked at his hand. If he cut himself a deeply as Prescott had, and this actually worked, he might bleed to death. Instead he took out his pocket knife, pricked the side of one finger, squeezed a single drop of blood into the fire.

Nothing happened. He sat, staring into the flames, muttering over and over. "Please. I need to know how to change this. I'll do anything. Please." After a while he began to lose hope, tears rolling down his face, but he persisted, repeating his ad-hoc mantra until the flames died out.

When there was nothing left but smoking embers, he finally looked up, and lurched backward onto his hands in surprise. The bull elk stood on the other side of the fire pit, staring at him. It turned, walked to the edge of the clearing, then looked back, waiting. William followed, and it led him deeper into the woods. He was quickly lost, and soon found himself among huge cedar trunks, bigger around than anything that should be left in the over-logged forest around Arcadia Bay. They stopped at the edge of another, large clearing. Within it, a small doe stood grazing, and something was moving in the air around it. A bright blue butterfly, the exact color of Chloe's eyes. It landed on the tip of the doe's nose, flexing its wings. The doe crossed its eyes to look at it, waggled its ears.

 _Max and Chloe,_ he thought, somehow sure of it. He watched as the butterfly took to the air again, dancing around the doe, which began to leap about, alternately chasing and being chased. William remembered Sean's comment on butterflies. "Pray you never meet one." Well, what was bad for Sean might be good for him.

He approached the pair, hesitated. Found himself terrified of the consequences of dealing with spirits once more. But he had come here specifically for this purpose, to beg the help of his spirit animal, and it had led him here. Steeling himself, he addressed the insect. "You know what's going to happen to my daughter. I'm here to ask if it can be changed. If there's any way she can be saved. Any way to… put an end to the Prescotts' evil. It's worth… any price."

The butterfly flew up, hovered in front of him. Suddenly the clearing was gone and he found himself standing on the bluff by the lighthouse, overlooking Arcadia Bay. Cold, biting wind and rain tore at him, and when he looked up, he recoiled in horror at the enormous tornado that drove into the town, shredding everything in its path. The blue butterfly, unbothered by the wind, settled on his shoulder. The other animals were gone. Nothing he'd seen before, in his visions in the clearing, had been as devastating as this, as sudden, as total. As utterly impossible.

He looked around, confused, and then he saw them. Two young women embracing at the cliff edge. One with blue hair watched the carnage while the other, brunette, buried her face in the blue-haired girl's shoulder. _They're going to survive the storm,_ he thought. He looked back down at the town. _And they may be the only ones who do. Joyce… my poor Joyce._ He remembered his older vision, of Joyce in the courtroom, eyes rimmed with red, screaming at the jury, the bailiffs approaching from either side. Maybe better to die in this tornado than to live and bury her only daughter.

And below, all of the Prescotts' villainy, generations of corruption, washed away in a river of blood. A cure worse than the disease, at least in the short term. But there was Chloe, alive and well. And Max, too, safe in her arms. He watched them a while, recalling the previous night's dinner conversation. His little girl had known from the moment they met.

William bowed his head, whispered. "Is this the only way?" The butterfly on his shoulder just flapped its wings, waved its antennae at him. Below, the tornado continued to devour the town. He sighed. "It's worth it. It's all worth it, for her. For them. This is… what I want."

Somewhere in the distance, he heard the long, high keen of an elk's bugle.

He came back to himself in the clearing, the fire still blazing, a furious headache pounding behind his eyes. He grunted, stood, began grimly smothering the fire. For better or worse, the deal was done. William loved Arcadia Bay. He was glad he wouldn't have to watch it die.

He spent the evening entertaining Chloe while Joyce worked the dinner shift at the diner. It was inconvenient, but the tips were good on Sunday night. Spending time with his daughter, his mood improved. He resolved not to let himself dwell on the future. She'd make it, and she'd have Max, that was the important part.

That night, he dreamed of the elk. It was the last time he'd ever see it. He followed it through a shadowy forest, suddenly found himself in the Two Whales. He was standing in front of a booth, where Max and Chloe sat, drawing with crayons. Only a few years on, judging by their ages. Through the window, he saw a photographer on the sidewalk, putting away his gear.

"What've we got here?" he heard himself say.

"A circus!" said Chloe, holding up a menagerie, featuring a blonde ringleader and a brunette lion tamer.

"A tornado." Max said solemnly, holding up a swirl of grey over blue water, threatening a boat and, beyond, a town on the shore. She looked up at him with sad, tired eyes. The eyes of an adult.

William looked at her, cocked his head slightly. "Max, are you feeling quite yourself?"


	4. Chapter 4

Sean Prescott sat alone, smoking a cigar, waiting. The noise outside the bunker was ferocious. He was pretty sure the house above was entirely gone at this point. No great loss. It was insured. Everything was insured, even against "acts of God", which, some might argue, was exactly what this storm was. But it didn't matter. His son was dead, his wife, downtown when the storm hit, was probably dead, Jefferson was either imprisoned or dead, all of his employees were probably dead, and all his plans and all his property certainly lay in ruins. If he survived the next 24 hours, his influence was gone, his power, his organization. After this, he was just some schmuck with a plus-sized bank account. And if he didn't survive, his hippie daughter would inherit the plus-sized bank account, and would probably give it all away and go back to living in the jungle, or whatever godforsaken hole she'd gone off to.

This was not how this week was supposed to go. The Price girl was to meet her end days ago, netting his son the brush with the law that would harden him into the man he needed to be. It hadn't happened. When the snow started falling, Sean had realized that something new was afoot in Arcadia Bay, something he didn't understand. Hadn't foreseen. Couldn't prepare for. Much, much too late had it become apparent that the new thing was one Maxine Caulfield, who, somehow, was neatly sidestepping destiny over and over again. She'd kept Price alive, broken into the Dark Room, spooked Mark badly enough that the fool murdered Nathan. And now, this storm, which Sean was certain could be no more natural than the unexpected eclipse or the double moon, was erasing everything that was left. He doubted that either Caulfield or Price had fallen victim to it.

He'd spent his life expanding on his father's work, bringing Arcadia Bay to heel, ensuring his family's legacy. It wasn't a job he'd asked for, but it was the job he'd received nonetheless, and he'd done it as well as he could. And now this… kid… had blown the whole thing up. She was a God-damned terrorist. None of it made sense, except for one thing. It had all started with Price.

He only had one play left, and it was terribly old-fashioned. He gripped the cigar between his teeth, picked up the pistol, ejected the magazine, started loading rounds from the box on his desk. It was slow work; his hands were shaking badly. But he supposed his great-grandfather would at least be proud that he was returning to the family's roots. On the other hand, the "personal investigation and security" firm which was presently tracking Caulfield's whereabouts for him was decidedly 21st century. Kids these days never went anywhere without their phones, and they all used credit cards for everything. With the right connections and a little time, you could find them anywhere.

He finished loading the gun, carefully set it back down on the desk, took a puff from the cigar. The storm should pass soon. He looked over at the black Bentley at the other end of the bunker, glad that he'd sprung for the fortified garage. _Thanks for the warning, William,_ he thought. _Your revenge is complete. Now I get mine._

* * *

A mile out of Arcadia Bay, a small animal ran out into the road, right in front of the truck. Chloe jerked the wheel, but it was too late. They both winced as they heard the thump of the truck tire, and, instinctively, Max rewound.

"Chloe, slow down. Critter in the road."

"OK." The truck slowed abruptly, and they watched a squirrel dash across the highway ahead.

Max frowned. "Shit. Guess I can still rewind."

Chloe looked over at her, surprised. "OK… so? That is bad, now?"

"I thought I got this power so that I could save you. If I still have it… maybe it means you're still in danger."

"Or you just get be a bad-ass time master from now on?"

"Maybe. I was actually hoping it would go away. It's exhausting, Chloe. I'm sick of having to decide whether to redo things, and I definitely don't want to stir up any more tornados. I just want to be a normal person again."

"Yeah, I hear you. As much as I love having a super-powered best friend, I have to admit the side effects are pretty brutal. Maybe it will go away… um, with time. If you don't use it."

"Yeah," Max said, unconvinced. She was worried.

They both knew that when they got to Seattle, they'd be surrounded non-stop by Max's family, her Seattle friends, and maybe the press if they got wind of living eye witnesses. It was too much to face, too soon to start a new life. They had a lot to mourn, and a lot to talk about, with their rather different memories of the past week.

They pulled over in a tiny town on the Nehalem river, not far from Arcadia Bay, which had a little motel. As they parked, a group of fire engines went screaming down the highway in the opposite direction, followed shortly by a couple of ambulances, and a big red truck labeled "Heavy Rescue". _Good luck guys,_ Max thought. _Hope you find somebody alive down there._

The motel clerk seemed, as yet, unaware that anything untoward had happened just a few miles down the road. "We have a room with two double beds available, does that work? Alternatively we have one with just a king."

"King." answered Chloe, without hesitation. Max smiled. It was still mid day, but after everything that had happened, curling up in Chloe's arms was the one and only thing that she wanted.

"I'll need a credit card," said the clerk.

"Oh, right, here you go," said Max, handing it over.

The room was on the second floor, with a decent view of the water. It even had a little balcony. "Maybe we should stay a while," Max said. "I could use a few days of peace and quiet."

* * *

Everything in Chloe's life was gone, except for Max and the truck. Max tried to convince herself that the blood of an entire town was not on her hands. Except that it was. Finally alone and out of danger, they just held on to each other, for a long time.

After a while, when the tears subsided, Max told Chloe the full story of her trips through time. It was a relief to tell someone about it all, and Chloe listened intently. She asked a lot of questions about William, from the other timeline. When Max got to the end, on the beach, she backtracked to one detail she'd left out. A happier memory amidst a sea of pain.

"One more thing. You're going to think this is funny. When you dared me to kiss you, and I did… I actually rewound and tried it again. Twice."

"Damn, extra hard core. Glad I rated a triple play."

"More like three strikes! I was hoping if I did it a little differently you wouldn't pull away and make that joke about texting Warren, but no luck."

"Ugh, now I feel like such an ass. Sorry Max, I was just _hella_ surprised. Also that wasn't really a joke, I did text him."

"Like a day later!"

"I didn't have his number dude! I had a lot going on! Give a girl a break." Chloe paused, thinking. "But… you don't remember anything from the rest of that day, right, cuz you were with disabled-me? That sucks, that was a chill night."

"Well, I had a pretty chill night with the other you, anyway. We watched Blade Runner."

"Nerd alert! I'm like, so much cooler."

"You totally are. But that's not an easy memory for me, Chloe. Let's… just tell me your version."

Chloe filled in the gaps for Max, the two relatively uneventful nights they'd spent together that Max couldn't remember. Thursday night had been rough, Chloe was a wreck after finding Rachel, and they were both nervous about Jefferson and the oncoming storm.

When Chloe finished, Max said, "I'm still jealous of my other self, your version is a lot less fucking traumatic."

"Well, that was the point, right? I'm really sorry I let Prescott _and_ Jefferson shoot me. Apparently."

"Let's not… talk about that part anymore. You're alive now. This is the timeline I want to remember."

"Right. Focus on the living. We need some good vibes after all this shit." She smiled. "For example, I dare you to kiss me."

Max leaned closer, but Chloe held up a finger, stopping her. "NO rewinds."

"No rewinds. Never again, with you."

* * *

Evening approached, and Chloe's stomach rumbled. "I'm starving, I wonder what there is to eat in this town."

Max got up and went over to the little desk in the motel room. "There's usually some pamphlets or something… here we go." She held up a stack of cards and brochures, then started to flip through them. "These are from all over, guess there isn't much right here. Whoah, this one's for the Two Whales." The front of the little brochure had a photo of the front of the diner, from the street outside, taking the iconic sign into view. "This photo is from, like, ten years ago!" She scanned the photo, picking out the little details that marked this as the Two Whales of her childhood. Then she looked at the windows. "Holy shit, Chloe… we're in this photo. It's fuzzy but… look here, we're in the booth by the window. And your dad too, he's in the next booth over, with some other guy, in a suit?"

Chloe grabbed the brochure. "Yeah, that's him. Wow, we're like… eight and nine, or so, looks like? Talk about a time trip. This guy my dad is sitting with… is… holy shit. Max, this is Sean Prescott. What the _fuck_ was my dad doing hanging out with Sean fucking Prescott?!"

"I don't know, but… I don't think it matters anymore."

"I think it fucking matters! That guy is, or was, pure evil. Why would either of my parents have anything to do with him?! Besides, I guess, to pay for my crazy-expensive life support system when I'm a damned quadriplegic. So trippy. But still! Max, you should go back, I want to know what they're talking about!"

"What?! Chloe, if I even can go through this crappy photo, there's no guarantee I won't accidentally change something and ruin everything and… lose you again."

"Just don't do anything. I bet we were just drawing or something, that's what we always did at the diner. Just listen in. When you went back, with my dad, the second time… you were able to get back to our reality, right?"

Max stared at her friend. This was crazy. But she had to admit, she was curious. Sean Prescott, of all people. William hadn't been the kind of guy who would associate with… whatever Prescott actually was. A thug in an expensive suit? "OK, I'll try it. At least I know there are probably zillions of copies of this photo all over the place, in case I come back and I'm on Mars or something and have to go back and fix it."

She sat on the edge of the bed and focussed on the photo.


	5. Chapter 5

Max had a crayon in her hand. She looked down at a crude picture of a pirate ship, with a blonde and a brunette stick figure aboard. The blonde was wearing a captain's hat. Of course.

"I'm drawing a circus! What are you drawing?" Chloe's voice came across the table, startlingly high pitched but still definitely Chloe.

"Um… a pirate ship," Max replied. "You're the captain." Her own child voice sounded high and strange in her ears.

"As long as you're first mate!"

 _Indeed,_ Max thought. She grabbed another crayon, started drawing a town on the shore. The pirate needed something to plunder, after all. She could hear the voices of William and Sean Prescott behind her in the next booth. They were speaking quietly, but she could tell the conversation was heated. She leaned back in the booth, strained to listen.

"William, please, reconsider. I need your talents."

"I told you not to come near me or my family. I said I was through, and I meant it."

"I can still fix this, if you'll let me."

"No, you can't. You're done, Prescott, you just don't know it yet. There's a storm coming, and when it comes, you and everything you've built here will be gone. And _she'll_ be free of all this. Now get the hell out of here, you don't want to cause a scene at the local diner, do you?"

Max's crayon froze in her hand. Did he mean THE storm? How could he know?

"A storm, eh? We'll see about that." Prescott sounded rattled. "Alright William, have it your way." Max heard him get up, saw him walk past, out of the diner. She grabbed a grey crayon, started scribbling frantically.

William appeared at their booth. "Hey kids! What've we got here?"

"A circus!" said Chloe, holding up her menagerie.

"A tornado." said Max, holding up her storm, looming over the pirate ship and the town.

William looked at her, cocked is head slightly. "Max, are you feeling quite yourself?"

 _Oh shit,_ she thought, _he does recognize it._ Hadn't really expected that. "Um, yeah, I'm super!"

"You look like you could use some air. Let's go outside, get you some fresh air. Chloe, wait for us here OK?"

"OK!" Chloe said, and returned to drawing.

William took Max firmly by the arm and led her out into the parking lot. Then he squatted down to look her in the eye. "Sorry to scare you, Max. I think something… funny is going on right now. Why'd you decide to draw a tornado?"

She looked at him. "It's just a drawing."

"Max, what day is it today?"

 _Oh, shit!_ "Um, it's… I guess I forgot?"

"Why'd you draw the tornado, Max? Is that town Arcadia Bay? Have you seen it? I think you're older than you look, right now."

The gig appeared to be up. How was this even possible? She caved. "Yeah I… I've seen it. I'm visiting. Just for a few minutes. But William, I have to be careful not to change anything, and just talking to you like this is dangerous!"

"Huh," he said, rocking back on his heels. "Interesting. Don't worry about changing anything, I already knew about this… visit. And I've gotten pretty good at keeping secrets about the future. How old are you where you're visiting from?"

"Uh… eighteen. How did you know?"

"I've been able to… catch a few glimpses of what's coming. I saw you holding up the the picture. I knew you'd be… someone else. From after the storm, I think."

"Yeah… right after. You know about the storm."

"I do. Does Joyce… is there any chance?"

Max shook her head, her ponytail brushing her back. "I would have lost Chloe. I'm so sorry William. I couldn't find another way."

He looked down at the ground for a moment, then raised his head. "It's alright, that's what I expected. She would have made the same choice, Max. She doesn't want to outlive her only daughter any more than I do. But Chloe is…?"

"She's fine. She convinced me to come back here. She wanted to know why you were talking to Prescott."

"That's my girl! But it might be a longer story than we have time for. The thing you need to know is, the storm, this… whatever it is you're doing… it's been building for a long time. The Prescotts started it, decades ago, before Sean was even born. They've been doing… bad things. Weird stuff. Spirits. Blood. Visions. Messing around with people's destinies to suit their own ends, to control the town. And it's killing Arcadia Bay. The town is losing its… light, you might say, becoming an evil place. You can see it if you know where to look."

"Yeah. The town was definitely not doing very well. How do you know all this?"

"Sean roped me in. Said I had 'a gift', had me take part in his messed-up rituals."

 _That sounds familiar,_ Max thought.

William continued, "It started before I married Joyce. I was young and stupid. And curious. He knows a way to invoke the animal spirits, bring on visions of the future. I didn't believe it at first but, it turns out… 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.' He needed me because he's afraid of something in his own visions, he won't do it himself anymore. It was exciting, and I played along for a few years, until I realized what was really happening. And I saw how working with Prescott had changed my own fate, and Chloe's. I knew I couldn't save myself but… Chloe could make it, maybe. At…" Here his voice cracked. "at a cost. I asked for it, Max. I asked for the storm, to save her and to stop Prescott."

Max was staring at William in shock. "William. Wowser. You really think it's the right choice?"

"For Chloe? It's the only choice. I think you agree with me."

"Yeah… I didn't have to let it happen, but I did. So you… know what's going to happen to you?"

"Not the specifics. Don't tell me. But I've made my peace with it. I'm determined to be the best husband and father I can be in the years I've got left. It's more than some people get."

She reached out, put her small hand on his. "I did find a way to save you, but… it just made things worse in the end."

William's eyes widened. "Wow, that's quite a trick. You've got real power, there, Max. More than the Prescotts ever had. But I know you made the right choice."

"It wasn't easy. Sometimes this power feels like a curse."

"I'm sure. You don't deserve any of this. It all comes down to the Prescotts, but if I hadn't gotten mixed up with Sean… it would have been easier on the two of you, and Joyce. I want you to tell Chloe what we talked about. Tell her I'm sorry, and I love her. This is the best I could do."

Max felt herself slipping, the light around her closing in.

"I will. I'm running out of time. She loves you too, and she still misses you. So do I."

"Yeah." William's eyes were wet. "Yeah, OK. You take good care of her, Max."

"Always. I love her, William. I always will."

He smiled, looked back at little, blonde Chloe in the window of the diner. "Tell her I approve of the blue hair and the awesome tat, by the way."

And then she was back in the motel room, clutching the Two Whales brochure. She felt Chloe's arms around her, then blood started dripping from her nose, spattering on the photo of the diner. She started, looked around.

"And… you're back! Shit, lemme find you a tissue." Chloe ran into the bathroom, returned and pressed a clump of tissues to Max's face. "What did you find out?"

"Chloe… there's _so much_ we didn't know."

Max told her everything.

* * *

"All these years I've been blaming my dad for walking out that door, and my mom for calling him, and it was all because of fucking Prescott! I hope he didn't die in that storm because I want to kill that evil motherfucker myself!"

Chloe was pacing up and down the room, while Max stood at the foot of the bed trying to talk her down. "More death isn't going to solve any of this! You don't want to be a killer, trust me! And he's dead anyway, with the rest of Arcadia Bay."

"Why do you still have your power, then? I bet he's still out there. I bet we can use your power to take him down for good!"

"Jesus, Chloe! After everything we just went through, everything I went through, you want to, what, go hunting for this guy in the wreckage so you can murder him? We can't do it. I can't do it. We have to move on from this, live our own lives, together. That's what I did this all for!"

Chloe stared at her, her face hard, angry. Then she relaxed, wrapped Max into a bear hug. "Yeah, maybe you're right. He's probably a corpse. He can't come back from the dead to ruin my life… hopefully."

Just then, there was a knock on the door.

"Oh, shit," said Chloe, breaking the hug.

"Chill out, it could be anybody. If people realize we're from Arcadia Bay they'll want to talk to us. Reporters, or police, or angry meteorologists, or something." Max walked to the door, hooked the security chain, pulled it open a few inches. And stared into the barrel of a gun. She ducked backward, and the man wielding it kicked the door open, breaking the chain and knocking Max to the ground. Behind her, Chloe leapt for David's revolver.

Max rewound.

"I want to kill that evil motherfucker myself!", said Chloe, again.

"Chloe there's a guy coming with a gun. I'm going to take it from him. Be ready, but do _not_ shoot him."

"What? Oh man, this dispatch-from-the-near-future stuff still messes with my head."

Max went to the door and stared through the peephole, her hand on the knob. As soon as she saw motion, she flung the door open, dashed past the man with the gun. Sean Prescott, alive after all. Middle-aged, pudgy, wearing glasses. It was not a very intimidating look.

He spun toward her and she rewound a fraction of a second, watched him rotate back toward the door. Then she bolted down the walkway to the stairs, stood just below the top step. "Hey!" he called, confused, whirling again, raising the gun. Max rewound farther, staying put herself, watched him spin and then walk backward toward her. As he came down the top step, she stopped rewinding, grabbed his belt from behind, and hauled him off balance. He tumbled down the stairs, swearing, the gun clattering away on the floor as he hit bottom. She followed, picked up the gun, rewound again, watched him roll back up the stairs. Once we was upright on the stairs again, she stopped, saw him step up onto the walkway, then look down at his empty hands in sudden surprise. She raised the gun, aimed it at him.

 _All too easy,_ she thought to herself. _All his foresight and he's not ready for this at all._ She reflected that on Monday she never would have dreamed of pointing a gun at anybody, on Tuesday she had done exactly that to defend Chloe, and now on Friday she had to fight the urge to just execute this vile man where he stood. What would Saturday bring?

She called up to him, climbing the stairs. "Just keep walking, Prescott. Guess you're more of a desk jockey these days, Jefferson was much better at this than you are."

He looked back at her, enraged, confused. "Caulfield!" Then he lunged at her. She rewound him back to the start of the lunge, stepped sideways. Now there was nothing in front of him but air, and he tumbled down the stairs again, swearing, again. He staggered to his feet, bruised and bloody from the the fall, then turned and ran, disappearing around the corner of the motel. Max walked down the steps, then rewound him back, all the way to a heap below the bottom step. As he staggered up, again, she aimed the gun at him, point blank. "I can do this all day," she said, calmly. _Not true,_ she told herself, _but I can do it longer than he can, he's lucky he survived his trip down the stairs._

Now there was real fear in his eyes. "How can you… so fast…?"

She gestured with the gun. "Back up the stairs. Don't think I won't pull the trigger, I've done it before, and you have a lot more to answer for than the last guy."

Grumbling, he slowly, painfully climbed the steps. When they reached the top Max saw Chloe standing in the door of their room, aiming her own gun at Prescott.

He was not encouraged by this. "Jesus fucking Christ! Both of you!"

Max gestured with the gun again. "Get in the room and sit down on the floor."

He looked back at her, wild-eyed. "What is your game anyway, Caulfield? You came to Arcadia Bay just to fuck with me? What kind of deal did you make to even get this kind of power?"

"You're not in a position to ask questions. Get in the room and sit down on the floor."

He fumed, glared at Chloe, and went into the room.

They tied him up on the floor with some bungee cords from Chloe's truck. He raved incoherently for a little while, apparently having been wronged by several woodland creatures, but soon came to his senses, such as they were. Max doubted his brain was firing on all cylinders, given his amateurish attempt to get the drop on them. "How?" he asked at last. "At least tell me how."

"It doesn't matter how," Max said. "What matters is that my power, and the storm, are the price we all pay for your family's corruption. Arcadia Bay is on _your_ hands."

"And William Price's."

"Only because you tricked him, you God-damned psycho!" yelled Chloe.

Prescott took a deep breath, steadied himself. "Well, what are you planning to do with me now? If you plan to exact some kind of revenge, you'll just end up in jail. You may have power but you were still wanted for questioning in connection with a burglary and grand larceny investigation, and you were on camera in the Dark Room. The law _will_ catch up with you eventually."

He had a point. Chloe was controlling her murderous instincts for the time being, but it was not clear how long that would last.

But Max had an idea. "I want to see it, Prescott." she said. "I want to see how you've been doing this trick of yours, how you used Chloe's dad."

His lips pulled up into a grim smile. "Is that all?"

 


	6. Chapter 6

They took the truck through a back road into the woods behind what was left of Arcadia Bay, Prescott wedged uncomfortably in the center of the front seat, his hands tied behind his back. He had had them take a duffel bag from the trunk of his Bentley, explaining only that it contained "supplies". He was cooperating a little too well, as if he wanted to show them what he knew. It was not a comforting thought. When they reached the clearing, they found that it had been sheltered by a nearby hillside and was untouched by the storm. Max supposed this was no accident.

They sat Prescott by the fire pit, and under his direction, Chloe set everything up, got a knife and a first-aid kit from the duffel, while Max made sure he behaved. Once the fire was blazing and the right symbols had been drawn in the dirt, Prescott claiming they depended on the moon, he described the last step. "Now the seer concentrates on the fire, and lets some of their own blood into it. The talent runs in families. Are you ready to see the future, Chloe Price?"

 _He still doesn't get it,_ Max thought. _He thinks we're like him._

Chloe was looking at her in alarm. "No, Prescott," Max said, "you are."

"Me?" He said, surprised. "No, I can't do that anymore. It won't work. Why would you want me to do it?"

"Just curious. Chloe, untie one of his arms." Chloe moved to comply.

Prescott was visibly terrified now. "You can't make me do it. It can't be forced!"

"Then no problem, eh Prescott?" Chloe answered. "Don't worry, I won't cut too deep. Probably."

He lurched, tried to get up and run, but Max was right on top of him, the barrel of Prescott's own gun against the back of his neck before he started moving. Chloe grabbed his arm, slashed it with the knife, and yanked it over the fire, flinging drops of blood into the flames. "Fuck, no!" he grunted, pulling his arm back, looking around wildly. His gaze crossed the fire, and stopped. Suddenly he went slack, staring into the flames, his wounded arm flopping to his side.

"Huh, real peaceful all of a sudden," said Chloe. "It gives me chills to imagine him here, watching my dad like this. Creepy bastard. So… why are we doing this?"

"William told me he was afraid of something in his own visions. I think the spirits here may have a score to settle, just as much as we do. Maybe more so."

"Damn, Max, if that is true, that is some spooky shit."

Max's voice was cold. "Not as spooky as discovering I can rewind fucking time."

Chloe reached out, ran her hand down Max's back. "Yeah. I got so wrapped up in all the crazy shit going on I lost track of how totally fucked up this entire thing is. No wonder you want your power gone."

Then they became aware of a new sound, the crunching of something heavy moving through the woods, accompanied by deep, snuffling grunts. They looked up to see a grizzly bear the size of a small car appear at the edge of the clearing. It stopped, looking from Max, to Chloe, to Prescott, and back again. It raised its head, sniffed the air.

They backed away, and Chloe raised her gun, her voice edged with panic. "Whoah, Max, that thing is huge! I don't think this is part of the regularly scheduled program!"

"I don't think that's a normal bear, Chloe. There haven't been grizzlies in Oregon for a century."

"Well what the fuck is it then?!"

The bear fixed its gaze on Prescott, started walking toward him. "Max?!" yelled Chloe, but Max just gestured for her to be still. The bear crossed the fire, stepping right over it as if it wasn't there, put its nose to Prescott's face. It sniffed, recoiled, grunting, then opened its huge jaws and roared into his face. His eyes widened and he seemed to wake up, looked up at the bear, apparently seeing it for the first time. He sprang to his feet, turned to run, and this time Max didn't try to stop him. He made it a couple of steps before the bear lunged forward, slapping him on the back with one paw, knocking him face first into the dirt. It took his ankle in its jaws, and began to drag him back across the clearing. Prescott grunted in pain, reaching toward his ankle and flailing at the bear's face, to no apparent effect. He tried jerking his leg away, but the bear just tightened its grip, causing him to emit a thin, high-pitched whine. He looked up Chloe, his face desperate. "For God's sake, shoot it!"

She stood impassively. "Sorry Prescott, I'm a nature lover. I'd never hurt an animal."

He looked over to Max, who also stood impassive, and finding no help there, went back to thrashing ineffectively at the bear's head. It had reached the edge of the clearing, and was pulling him into the woods.

Chloe looked at Max quizzically. "What now? Should we follow it?"

"We can try."

They followed the bear's path at what they imagined to be a safe distance, but the woods rapidly grew thicker, less familiar, and it got harder and harder to keep up. They spread out into the underbrush to keep a better eye on Prescott and the bear. The cedars grew dense around them, and the sounds of the forest seemed to fade away. The birdsong disappeared, the susurration of the breeze in the treetops faded away. Soon all they could hear was the bear dragging Prescott, and their own crunching footsteps. The woods became unnerving, alien.

Then, rounding a particularly large cedar trunk, Max almost walked into a doe. A familiar doe. It looked up at her, then moved to stand directly in her path. She tried to shoo it, then tried to just go around, but it moved to block her. "Chloe," she called, "I think we need to stop."

"Yeah," came the response through the trees. "I'm getting that message too."

Max heard Chloe change direction, crunch toward her. She appeared between the trees trailed by a blue butterfly, _the_ blue butterfly. The bear receded into the forest; there was no way they'd find it, or Prescott, after this.

"Well, that's pretty fucked," Chloe said. "That bear stole our bad guy, and these two are in on it. I feel like I'm in some kinda messed up Disney movie." The doe turned to Chloe, swished its tail.

"I think we should take their advice," said Max.

"I guess we don't have a choice."

As Chloe said this, the butterfly flew over to Max, landed on top of her head. She giggled. "Aw, it tickles."

Then there was sudden darkness, and they came to in the clearing, the fire before them reduced to glowing embers. They had each sunk to their knees and dropped their guns. But there was no sign of Prescott, not even scuffs in the dirt from him being dragged. "Ugh… what the _fuck?!"_ Chloe stood up, held her hands to her face.

"It was a vision," Max said, "this felt just like when I saw the tornado."

"Man that's trippy. What the hell happened to Prescott?"

"I… get the feeling we're not going to see him again."

"The feeling, huh? I'd rather have his head on a platter. Maybe the bear was just saving him from _us._ "

"I don't know Chloe. It looked pretty angry to me, and our spirit animals were there too. And… there's something else." Max couldn't put her finger on it, but everything felt slightly different than it had moments before. The woods had an extra solidity which she hadn't realized was missing until it returned. She held out her right hand to rewind, expected to see the rising smoke from the fire pit reverse course and slide back down. But nothing happened. She concentrated, waited for the pain in her head from the effort. But still, nothing happened.

"Chloe… I can't rewind. My power is gone!" Max stared at her hands, then flung herself at Chloe, wrapped her arms around her in a crushing hug, buried her head in Chloe's shoulder. "It really is over… I can have a normal life again… Chloe I love you and now I can't take it back I think maybe I always did but didn't know it I'm sorry I'm such a dork and left your for five years please don't be mad oh God Chloe…" and with that she started bawling, muffled by Chloe's jacket.

Chloe just held on, rested her cheek on top of Max's head. "Wow." she said, softly. "Max. I know. I love you too, I always will. You coulda told me before, you know."

It took a moment for Max to reply. "When I could rewind… what if I told you and you made fun of me or something and I rewound and then I had this hurt and you didn't even know why, it would fuck everything up… I wanted to tell you last night…"

"Last night? At my place?"

"Yeah you were so sad about Rachel and I just wanted to say hey Chloe I love you it will be OK but I was afraid…"

"I thought you didn't remember last night?"

"I don't… wait." Max pulled back, looked up at Chloe in sudden surprise. "I do! And Wednesday night, CSI Arcadia Bay! But I still remember the other stuff too. Wowser. This is so weird, Chloe."

"That's for sure. Let's get the hell out of here, this place gives me the creeps."

"Yeah. And tomorrow, let's drive up to Seattle. There's so much I've wanted to show you for so long."

"You got it, Mad Max. Wonder if Prescott left us anything good in here, maybe a hundred grand in unmarked bills or a gold brick." She leaned over the duffel they'd brought from his car, pulled out two big, weathered notebooks, started flipping through one. "Whoah, check this out, the guy kept a log of all his evil deeds."

"Chloe, I don't want to know. I don't think you do either."

"Huh, maybe not." She closed the notebook. "What should we do with them?"

Max took the notebooks, turned, and tossed them into the embers of the fire. The dry paper blackened and ignited, soon becoming a pillar of flame. In less than a minute, there was nothing left but flakes of ash. "Let's go," said Max, taking Chloe's hand and leading her back toward the truck.

Behind them, the old elk stood in the clearing, watching them walk away, arm in arm.


	7. Epilogue

Weeks after the storm, a gray, drizzly Sunday in Seattle, the doorbell rang. Vanessa Caulfield opened the door to find a woman in her early 20’s, impeccably dressed in a pinstripe suit, carrying a small briefcase. “Hello,” the stranger said, “is Maxine Caulfield at home?”

Vanessa knit her brow, glancing at the quarter-million-dollar car in the driveway. “May I ask what this is regarding?”

“Maxine was an acquaintance of my younger brother, at Blackwell. He… didn’t make it, and I was hoping I could talk to her about him.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry for your loss. Of course.” She called back into the house. “Max, you have a visitor!”

When Max appeared at the door, Vanessa ducked away. The woman held out her hand. “Kristine Prescott.”

Max’s eyes narrowed, and she crossed her arms. “I have nothing to say to you.”

Kristine dropped her hand to her side, frowning slightly. “Please, Ms. Caulfield. I’m not like the rest of my family. I know I can never make up for the harm they caused, but I am trying to do something good in the world. If you’ll hear me out I think you’ll agree. And I need your help.”

“Fine. Speak.”

“It would be best if we could go somewhere more private.”

Max sighed. “OK. We’ll talk in my room, but my partner will be there too.”

“Would that be… Chloe Price?”

Max gave Kristine a dark look, turned, and walked inside. “Chloe!” she called.

* * *

Kristine sat on Max’s desk chair, while Max sat on the edge of the bed. Chloe stood at the door, scowling.

“I want to be very clear,” Kristine began. “I am not here to pursue any kind of vendetta. To me, my parents were rarely more than angry strangers. I loved Nathan, and I blame my father for his death. For a lot of deaths.”

“Then why are you here?” Chloe asked, already angry.

“To be direct… I’m the sole remaining heir to the family fortune, and I plan to place the vast majority of it in a charitable foundation. It’s a considerable endowment and I think I’ll be able to accomplish a great deal. Rural development, education, clean water, that sort of thing. However, it can’t happen until my father is declared dead. At the moment he is simply ‘missing’, because his car was found intact outside of the storm track. It seems he got out of Arcadia Bay and then disappeared without a trace.”

Max kept her expression carefully neutral. “What does that have to do with me?”

Kristine cocked her head to one side, looked Max hard in the eye. She spoke quietly. “I’ve put together some of the pieces. I know he was involved with… the unseen world, and I know he was looking for you. I strongly suspect you know what actually happened to him.”

“Nope,” Chloe said, “you’ve got the wrong girl.”

Kristine glanced up at her, then looked back at Max. “Obviously a scenario you’d be reluctant to discuss. But that’s not why I’m here. I’m here to ask you to testify that you took his car to escape the storm, and that you never saw him. The police would have to conclude that he was another victim of the tornado, and close the case.”

Chloe recoiled. “You want Max to confess to grand theft auto that never happened? You’re totally high!”

Kristine shrugged. “You did it to save your own life, and you didn’t keep the car. Nobody’s going to file charges given the circumstances. I’ve prepared an affidavit for you to sign.” She opened her briefcase, took out a single sheet of paper, handed it to Max.

“And… why should I do this?” Max asked, incredulous.

“As it stands, you were presumably the last ones to see Sean Prescott. Soon enough the police will be knocking on your door. Do you want to answer their questions? This paper gives them all the answers they need.”

Max looked up at Chloe, then back to Kristine. “You seem pretty sure he’s not going to turn up. What exactly do you think happened to him?”

“I used to sneak into his things and read the old journals he inherited from my grandfather. I assume that, one way or another, that old grizzly he was so afraid of finally caught up with him.”

Max’s eyes went wide. No concealing her surprise there. Kristine continued. “And I had been wondering if you were there when it happened.” She sighed. “It looks like I was right.”

“…yeah.” Max admitted, after a pause. “That was one angry bear.”

“I won’t ask about your involvement. I doesn't matter now, and he got what was coming to him. I don’t suppose you came across his notebooks?”

“We… did.”

“Do you have them?”

“Burned.”

“Probably for the best. Obviously neither of us want an ongoing investigation. So, can you sign this?”

Max read the paper. It claimed that, as the storm bore down on Blackwell, Max had found Prescott’s car in the parking lot with the keys inside. She hadn’t actually been at Blackwell at that point, but she supposed nobody who knew that was still alive. She signed.

“Excellent,” said Kristine, taking the page and putting it back in her briefcase, producing two business cards. She handed one each to Max and Chloe. “I think my family owes you both a great deal more than I could hope to repay, but… the Prescott Foundation will be offering two very generous university scholarships. I _strongly_ encourage you both to apply.”

“Um… thanks.” said Max, taking the offered card. Chloe took hers without a word.

After handing out the cards, Kristine slumped lower the chair, her professional poise ebbing away. She looked down at her hands, frowning. She really wasn’t much older than Max and Chloe.

“With that business out of the way… I would actually like to ask about my brother. Did you know Nathan?”

“We both did,” said Max, “but honestly…” she trailed off, searching for words.

Chloe was not prepared to be diplomatic. She started shouting. “You want to know about Nathan?! He fucking murdered my girlfriend! And he drugged me and tried to tie me up so he could take sicko pictures! And I wasn’t the only one! This whole fucking thing happened because of that psychopath!”

Halfway through this outburst Kristine had screwed her eyes shut, pinched the bridge of her nose. “Please, enough. I didn’t realize he was that far gone. I’d say it’s all my dad’s fault, but he got it from his father, and he got it from _his_ father. How far back does it go? These fucking _men_. I’m so thankful I was born a girl so that my dad didn’t try to make me his successor. Such a fucking waste.” She pulled a handkerchief from her suit jacket and blotted the corners of her eyes.

Chloe glared down at her. “If you’re looking for sympathy, you’re in the wrong house.”

“I know,” said Kristine, looking up at Chloe. “But at least you two have each other. A month ago I was living in a village in Brazil. I had friends there, nobody knew about my family. Now I’m back here… and there’s no one left.” She sighed. “I suppose I should be going. Thank you for cooperating. Do contact me if you need anything; I look forward to reviewing your scholarship applications.”

She got up and found her own way out of the house, high heels tapping on the wood floor. Max remained sitting on the edge of the her bed, staring down at the business card in her hand.


End file.
